


Playing for Keeps

by herbailiwick



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Board Games, Drinking, Drunkenness, Fake Character Death, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-30
Updated: 2012-12-30
Packaged: 2017-11-22 22:56:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/615304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/herbailiwick/pseuds/herbailiwick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John isn't doing well after Sherlock's death. Greg offers to help, for Mycroft's sake. </p><p>Rated PG.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Playing for Keeps

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shiverelectric](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shiverelectric/gifts).



It's two days after the fall and Sherlock is trying to figure out what Mycroft's voice is doing being so distant and feeble and hidden behind a mask of indifference peppered with cracks that go so deep that Mycroft really shouldn't even be trying, when it hits him.

Ew. Well. These things...they...happen. Not to Mycroft, not really, but there's a time for everything or, you know, whatever.

He hangs up on Mycroft to give Mycroft something to get annoyed about because if Mycroft's going to try to be moody, he's going to try and stop him.

He calls and hangs up two times more until Mycroft sounds exhausted but a little bit easier to deal with on the fourth call. He secretly praises himself for being such a good little brother.

And then they have their talk, seeing as the mask has fallen away a bit, cheap thing it really was, and Sherlock says in a bold move, completely changing the subject, but then again it's the _real_ subject, and they both know it, "He might forgive you."

And Mycroft laughs, a bitter laugh, an amused laugh, a condescending laugh, one of patience and guilt and the weight of the world as he knows it sitting on his shoulders and threatening to break them, and hangs up, and Sherlock is wise enough to not call back for another twenty four hours. He's a very good little brother.

***

Greg says, "We all make mistakes," and shoves the tumbler of alcohol toward Mycroft a bit more and he drinks, he does, and he closes his eyes, and he wonders at the fact Greg doesn't hate him like John does, but, then, Greg is his best friend and best friends are supposed to stick by you even when you appear to have done something stupid.

"You really miss that sod," Greg comments, shaking his head. "I'd say good riddance, but that's not fair. He's got to be hurting too, and all. But still, I mean, look at you."

"No, thank you," Mycroft says bitterly.

"Don't let one petty little ex-army doctor ruin your life. Let's go to cinema, watch something. Maybe even something artsy and foreign."

Mycroft's lip quirks as he pictures Greg falling asleep in the theatre, pictures how he'll sneak some of Greg's sweets when that happens because he always does. He sighs. "Perhaps next weekend."

"Perhaps now," Greg says firmly, looking hard at him.

Mycroft slips out of the harsh gaze and shrugs. "I'll be fine. You go." His voice leaves no room for argument, but Greg shoves the argument back into the conversation anyway.

"I'm doing something with you tonight. You can pick what it is, within reason, but I've seen what John Watson can do to Holmeses, and you'll actually let me protect you from it."

Mycroft's lip quirks again. "Your loyalty is far too blind, Greg."

"It's appropriate, then." 

Mycroft gazes at Greg questioningly, reaching for his glass, taking a sip. "Why's that?" he finally asks when Greg stays silent.

"Because your guilt is blind too."

Mycroft fights a bit of a smile. 

***

John holds onto his anger like it's going out of style. He calls up Sarah and works his way easily into the hearts of her friends through their sympathy for the whole Fall thing because everyone and their mother knows about it. He tries to keep his head low. He goes through the motions of friendship, attends gatherings, drinks drinks, swaps stories. He falls back into the old routine of faking it, like he'd done before meeting Sherlock. He even gets back into Mike's good graces, spends time with some of Mike's friends, including Molly Hooper.

He lets the oblivion of Other People fold around him like that'll help him. He rests on both military preciseness and the impulsive, thrill-thirsty chaos that is his true, unanchored nature. He drifts in a set pool and doesn't mind the idea that if he stops treading he might drown.

He'll probably never have another friend like Sherlock, and that's okay. Honestly. He's resigned to it. It's like when you meet the love of your life, marry them, and they die too soon, and you never marry again. He holds to his memories, when he can, gets used to brushing off sympathy and accepting it at the same time, gets used to being The Old John Watson. 

It's fine. It's all fine.

***

Greg knows Mycroft worries about John still.

"You watch him, don't you? Surveillance."

"Of course I do," Mycroft points out.

"How is he?"

"Spiralling quickly downward. And we all know who's to blame."

"You can be so dramatic. Want the rest of these?" Greg passes his plate to Mycroft, who stares at the chips witheringly. "They'll make you feel better."

Mycroft shrugs and indulges, leaning back more casually on the sofa.

"I'm going to find him. I'll find him, and I'll start spending time with him."

"He hates things that remind him of Sherlock. He's hiding instead of healing," Mycroft bites out around a mouthful of chips, like a child.

"Oh and who's that sound like?" Greg says pointedly.

Mycroft's lip quirks. "I'm eating your chips, Greg. What more would you like from me?"

"I'd like you to help me figure out how to get you and John back together again."

"We were never 'together'," Mycroft says in disapproval as he nibbles at the greasy chips with as much sophistication as possible. 

"You know what I mean."

"Do I?"

"I'm not gonna watch you just sit around and eat chips. It's like you've lost something. I mean, sure, Sherlock is dead, and I hate that too. I mean, and it's hard for us because we know the truth, don't we?" Mycroft's lip quirks because Greg only knows part of the truth.

"Either you help me find John and reel him in, or I'll get creative and somehow trick you two into spending time together. Don't think I won't. I'm no Holmes, but I'm pretty well determined."

"You're the best friend I could ever ask for," Mycroft says. "Better than, actually." He places the empty plate on the coffee table. "But I'll just let things play out how they will, and I'll keep an eye on him in case I think he's going to do something stupid."

"He's already doing something stupid," Greg grumbles, but the determination of before is fading out again. "You are too." He gazes over at Mycroft with such determinedly hopeful brown eyes that Mycroft can't meet them, won't meet them, so Greg gives up on that and simply says, "Deaths are awful, of course. But they can just as easily bring people together as they can tear them apart." He gives Mycroft's arm a squeeze to remind him they've gotten even closer since Sherlock's death.

"You," Mycroft says to Greg, staring at the place on his sleeve where Greg's gentle, supportive squeeze had been offered, remembering all the times he's been pulled out of self-pity by Greg's easily-avoided but often-accepted support, "are a better friend than Sherlock ever told you."

"I know," Greg says with a cheesy grin. "He didn't have to say that for me to know it. But thanks all the same."

Mycroft stares at the empty plate as Greg tries to find a record to put on.

***

"So, you know how I'm not really one for long, drawn-out plans?" Greg says. It sounds as if he's calling from the toilet.

"Yes."

"I'm bringing him to my place, and if you leave now without thinkin' about it, you have just enough time to make it there, settle in, and make it look like a regular thing before we get there."

"What activities do you have planned, exactly?"

"God, I don't know. Board games? Drinks? You could bring a film, if you want. Whatever we normally do," Greg says awkwardly.

"You're fantastic."

"Oh, fine, I get it," Greg says in a rush. "I know it's not the most graceful plan, but I've had a few!"

"I can tell. But, no, you're fantastic," Mycroft says honestly, and hangs up. He's got a film to pick, not that they'll probably get to it because John will just storm out and won't for a second believe it was Greg's plan and not Mycroft's because Mycroft's devious and horrible to him now, and perhaps it'd be much safer to just stay in. Greg's got that cat that doesn't like Mycroft anyway.

 _All my apologies_ , he texts Greg.

He waits what he feels is long enough for Greg to return the text, then he starts to worry a bit. It's stupid, of course, but people are so...they're so easy to dissect but so hard to actually interact with sometimes, and.

Just as he's running his hands through his hair and deciding to turn in early to go lie in bed and worry like he's so very good at, the text is returned.

_no worries taks it easy!_

Mycroft relaxes and, for Greg's sake, does his best to.

___

John doesn't understand what Greg is playing at at first, though he completely understands Greg is playing at something because while he's grown better at just burying himself in the eb and flow of life, in the whims of Other People and the haze that Other People can provide him, he's become more paranoid too. Something about fully surrendering to the ways of Socialization has increased his ability to read people.

Greg is playing at something. John understands this. John can't figure it out right away, it isn't revealed, so he decides to just stick with Greg. Because, well, it's Greg, and the worst he's got to offer can't be that bad. Sarah had this friend, a bloke named Sven, who offered John some free drugs, and John took them. Sven had hidden stuff far beyond whatever it is Greg could be hiding.

When they're at Greg's and are swapping ridiculous stories that have nothing to do with Sherlock over the well-loved Totopoly board, as blue and black swirl on the board like bad news and they lose track of what they're doing, as Greg seems somehow disappointed with his own house, something John can possibly relate to, John waits until Greg uses the loo to check out the call history of the phone he'd left on the ground.

"Mycroft," John says, shaking his head. He rolls his eyes. Mycroft probably wanted to keep tabs on John and wanted his go-to man to accomplish that for him. Go-to man seems a bit drunk, though, and all they've talked about is the past and Totopoly, and Greg likely won't remember much of the evening, so Mycroft has reached some sort of a dead end when it comes to Greg's help, which sort of endears Greg to John a bit.

"We should do this again," he tells Greg, guessing he'll probably have to tell him that again when the man is sober.

***

Greg waits two more times before drinking a little less, noting that he has systematically become good at convincing John to drink, which he feels poorly about because he figures there's a history of family alcoholism there about a mile long, extending far beyond John's sister, but he's going about this for all the right reasons, so he gets him a little sauced and asks him how he feels about Mycroft.

"I know he's who asked you to come have drinks with me."

Bugger.

John laughs at Greg's surprise. "I, er, I mean, it's okay with me. You're a good guy, Greg," he points out.

"You've known this whole time, huh?" Greg winces.

"It's okay, though. I don't care." John extends his arms out at his sides. "I literally...don't...care," he says, dropping the arms again, shrugging. 

"Could you, ah? I mean, would you _mind_ telling me what you think of Mycroft?"

John shrugs. "Tell him what he'd like to hear."

"No."

John pulls a face. "It's no skin off my nose," he says. "Honestly, whatever he wants from you, just give it to him. It's okay."

Greg actually looks a bit offended. "That's not okay," he says.

"You don't have to be his little pawn forever," John says with a giggle. "I'm pretty okay. You can tell him I'm okay." Greg actually looks even more offended. "I am!" John protests.

Greg clears his throat. "John, I'm sorry. Cards on the table, I'm not doing this cause he's forcing me or out of some sort of...God, who knows what you think of him. But he's not. I mean, whatever you think he is he's just...he's _more_ than that."

John laughs. "Greg, I've seen some pretty powerful people in my day. I don't think I'm underestimating him. I don't hold it against you; it's okay. I think you're a good guy."

"Well, he is too!" Greg protests. "John, whatever you're...I mean, what you're thinking...okay. Remember when I said Sherlock was not yet a good man, but, someday, if we were lucky, he would be? You never bought that. You just knew he was a good man."

"Honestly?" John says. "I didn't care whether or not he was. I don't care."

Greg blinks. "Oh John," he says sadly.

"But," John laughs, "are you saying you think Mycroft's the same? Someday he'll be a good man?"

Greg looks offended again. John finds this funny and tries not to make any more of an arse of himself, tries to just keep his face straight.

"John, listen to me."

"Pretty captive audience. I don't care. I don't care about...anything."

"Right. Well," Greg says awkwardly, "my point was just that...um. You might sit there and think that someday Mycroft Holmes will be a good man, but I know better. Not because he employs me, not because he orders me about, but because I sit in his house and he eats my leftover chips and, look...I don't know what to tell you except that he's the best friend I've ever had, one I never realized I needed. I just thought it was a bit like you and Sherlock."

John suddenly feels like crying. They've never talked about Sherlock, not him and Greg, the Greg who knew so much about Sherlock, who was, if John didn't know any better, practically head-over-heels for Sherlock.

"I'll probably have to tell you again later. But Mycroft's one of the best. I don't care what beef you have with him, what you blame him for. It happened, it all happened already. You two used to get on. Don't lie and say you didn't."

John refuses to say anything else on the subject, but he does not lie.

***

Mycroft's in one of his cars. John doesn't protest, but he rolls his eyes. He gets in.

"Where would you like to sit and talk?" Mycroft asks.

"Oh, I get a choice now?"

Mycroft looks at John and quietly assesses how he's been faring. 

Poor John.

"You do," Mycroft tells him gently.

John sighs. "Let's just drive round a bit," he says. "Honestly. I don't care. I'm not hungry."

"Okay."

John stares out the window absently. "Greg says you're a good man."

"And what do you say?"

"I don't care," John says. "I just. I don't care."

"You've made many new friends," Mycroft says carefully. "However, Greg seems to be the only one you've been at all open with."

"You're right," John says simply.

They drive in silence for a while.

***

Mycroft tries again, "I've worried about you. Not out of simple guilt or out of, I don't know, some desire to control you. I'm not like that. You can think I am, if you want, and only you can change that assessment. But I liked to think you and I were friends, friends outside of our connection to Sherlock. It was Greg's idea for the three of us to meet at Greg's. I couldn't, though. I'm sorry. I didn't want to surprise you like that. I'm not brave; we know that." Mycroft swallows. "I'm sorry, John. 

John shrugs, smiling slightly. "I don't know, I suppose there's something brave in there somewhere. If we use your definition anyway."

Mycroft grins, but quickly tries to school his expression into one of mild amusement. "Thank you," he says. 

"You're really Greg's best friend? Like...like equals?"

"Absolutely."

"You ate his chips?"

Mycroft's snort of laughter sort of jars John, who turns to look at him.

"He told you that? Yes, it's true." John carefully grins at the mental image. "But, anyway," says Mycroft, "I'm going to be more than a bit stupidly brave. Greg called on you, and I kept checking up on you. I care about you a lot." John scoffs, which makes Mycroft pause for a moment, closing his eyes.

John tilts his head slightly. "Sorry. I suppose that was rude."

"It was," Mycroft says, opening his eyes again, narrowing them slightly at John. "Honestly, if I'm going to bare my soul here, let's not do that, alright?"

"Alright," John says soberly.

"Okay." Mycroft turns to look out the window for a moment. "Anyway, I...I have always really found you interesting and...inspirational...and someone worth counting on."

"I'm touched," John says blandly.

"Please don't, Dr Watson. It doesn't become you."

John stiffens, slowly nods. "No, it...it doesn't. I'm sorry. I'll be good."

The silence this time is heavy.

"Anyway," Mycroft finally says, turning back toward John. "If you really don't wish to have anything to do with me, alright."

"Alright?"

"Alright."

"Is that what you want?"

"No," Mycroft says. "That's not at all what I want."

John looks at him for a long moment. "Okay, then."

"Okay?"

"Come by Greg's next time," John says. "You're on a probationary period."

"Mm? Am I?" Something in Mycroft's face lights up and he can't help showing it, though he seems to try. "To what do I owe this change of heart?"

John quirks a lip. "There's something about you Holmeses," he says. "I hate to say it...but I think I'm as fed up with ordinary people as Sherlock always was. Sometimes, I just need a sort of...bigger-than-life person to latch onto. Isn't that sad?"

Mycroft bites his lip, amusement shining in his eyes. He slowly shakes his head. "If it is, I'm right there with you."

"What?" John pauses, and the pieces seem to click into place. "Me?! Bigger than life?"

"John," Mycroft says earnestly, "I never want to see you this miserable again. My life is...it's better when you're around. Is that stupid enough for you?"

" _That_ ," John says with a faint nod, "is plenty stupid enough. You'd better be at Greg's."

"I will be," Mycroft says quickly.

"I'll hold you to that."

"I know." 

The two of them slowly smile at each other.

***

Years later, when Sherlock is being difficult about Totopoly because he seems to be a rebel to ridiculous levels, John and Mycroft exchange looks before leaning in and sharing a quick kiss. 

Sherlock goes silent, and it's the calm before the storm. Then, he loudly complains, about the kiss, about the game, about the room, pointing out even more changes he thinks the game could do with before sulking and taking a swig of his drink and calling Mycroft a few choice things.

"Sherlock, if you'd like to play something else," Mycroft says, "just ask." There's a threat there, a threat that says if he doesn't stop ruining all the fun, Mycroft and John will kiss again. 

Greg comes back with the Chess set. Neither of wants to play Sherlock. "Rock scissors paper?" suggests John, but at Sherlock's look of real offense, he softens and says, "Kidding! Just kidding!" and takes one for the team.

Sherlock beats him rather thoroughly, but at least they don't have to hear any more talk about horses.

That is, until Sherlock begins talking about the history of the knight piece, and they collectively groan.

Funny how Sherlock can still threaten to ruin their fun. But he's bigger-than-life, so he makes half the fun anyway, and they need him. It's incredibly nice to have him back. The rest is just details. The rest is how they make it work. Board games and drinks and complaints and kisses and the history of the knight and really, really very stupid things one might even call brave if they were drunk enough.

And, sometimes, if they weren't.


End file.
